Power At The Fingertips
by G M Hubbard
Summary: Through the eyes of Plasmid test subject Michael, this follows his attempts to get revenge on Fontaine in the infamous utopia Rapture during the civil war. Prequel to Bioshock. Rated M for strong language, gore, bloody violence and adult themes.
1. I Am The Test Subject

_Thud_! The smack to the face sent a slight cracking sound vibrating through my skull. My jaw drooped to the left and blood oozed over my lips. It hurt so much, not for the first time though, whenever the Professor broke my jaw.

"Come on, boy! Heal your bone structure." The Professor said through deep breaths. "You've done it before, boy. A lot of work's gone into this. Just heal it!"

I lifted my stricken head to look my oppressor in the face. "I'm schrying," I managed. Through the look I caught flashing in his eyes; I knew it wasn't good enough. I remembered the first time I had met this man, this beast with no conscience, when I was only a young boy. He had been kind then. A gentle character with concerns for my welfare.

The Professor raised his arm again with a bloodied fist, readying his muscles once again for the impact. I could almost feel the air solidify with the tension. I embraced myself for impact. I waited for what may have been minutes, my eyes clamped shut, afraid of the expected blow. As my left eye opened into a squint, I could see him metres away from me now, speaking in quick, anxious whispers with a mysterious figure I hadn't seen before. I stood to try and overhear what any of the two were saying. I was unfortunate because once my legs had straightened; the Professor had twirled around to face me.

"Enough for today, boy. Get to your room and clean up. No reading, just sleep. You're going to need all the rest you can get boy," he said to me with a grin crawling over his face. "Tomorrow's a special day. For you and everyone. Here's an EVE hypo to get you right again. Now get going."

I was astonished, to be honest. I could only catch the hypo he tossed at me and stare in amazement. This is probably the first time since I can remember that I was allowed to go to my bedroom early. What generally happened to me everyday was to stay in this pristine-white room and try out whatever Plasmid they needed testing before release. Today had been a healing Plasmid, hence the punching to my face and chest. I couldn't remember what happened other days, I can only presume they wipe my memory of that Plasmid and heal any wounds over the night.

As I gazed at the large, blue hypo sitting on my palm, I instantly felt like I needed to sit down. Needles made my legs practically turn to pinkish jelly, also bringing up the queasy feelings most people get on vehicular trips. I glanced around quickly and spotted the charred remains of what was once a plastic swivel-chair. I strode over to it and slumped down. Ignoring the acidic scorch marks on the wall and slashes of claw-marks, I clenched the cold metallic frame the glass was held and readied for the needle.

Before I jabbed myself on my left wrist, I quickly recalled the innumerable number of times the sharp, silver spike had replenished me of any weariness. It still obviously hurt slightly, but I don't really mind after having it done beyond counting. It had swollen considerably after so many punctures and left a nasty scarlet patch of skin.

I slid the needle in gently and grimaced as the blue fluid was absorbed into my bloodstream. I embraced the feeling as warmth and relief flooded through me. I stood up, now completely unaware of the blood dripping from my cuts and made my way to the door. I had to walk past the strange man to get through the door and I decided to attempt a look at his face. I looked up at him (he was interestingly tall) and as I glimpsed his face, my eyes peculiarly enough wandered away from him again, forcing him to only be a person in the corner of my vision. I knew it would be rude and probably get me a kick in the shin if I were to turn around and stare back at him, so I continued my short journey to my bedroom.

As I entered the room, the steel door was immediately slammed behind me, shoving the back half of me into the almost closet-sized bedroom. It was exactly like prison cells I had seen in the Sunday movies they allowed the other test subjects and myself to watch. Cramped, suffocating and just damned plain. It was all set out in a perfect, white manner that clearly tried to set a sense of ideal normality. Once or twice, I had gone almost crazy, destroying anything that resembled normal and had them forcing me into a miniature coma for a small period of time.

I pricked at my drab clothing. Again, this was white. I could not escape from this insane pressure of repetition. I slept in these clothes, woke in these clothes and spent my life in these clothes. Tears trickled down over my cheeks as painful memories of a circular-based lifestyle came back to me.

I sat down hard on my bed, slamming my forehead into my palms. The tears still came, dripping melodically onto the shining white floor. This infuriated me now and I kicked the floor, resulting in a dull _boom_ to reverberate around the room. I leant over to the side table where the sink was and grasped the small glass of sparkling water. The fizz was the only sound now that I could hear apart from the continuous muffled shouts from the air-vents.

I knew that the water now running over my lips and down my throat had been drugged as a tranquilizer to help us sleep, but I really needed the rest. The day had been harsher than most I remember and the Professor had said about tomorrow being special. What did he mean by that? Definitely a new Plasmid. Can't be anything else. Unless they're releasing me.

But before I could think of anything else. I clung on to the thought of freedom and the air that I could breathe and the food I could eat. A dream it'll become. And surely one I'll use till that day came. But, either by the sleeping drug or pure exhaustion, I fell swiftly into a seemingly endless dream of a non-existent happiness.

I woke abruptly in the night (for the first time ever I think) and I swear that in my light escape from reality I could hear the door creaking open and about three gruff voices spoke quietly and rapidly. I could hear their footsteps resounding in the empty hallways. I kept my eyes closed pretending to be asleep and managed to catch some of their conversation.

"Okay. Are you sure this is one, Graham?" asked the first voice.

"I'm sure as shit! Now one of you holds him and the other hold his wrists," replied the one I presumed as Graham.

"Alright, alright. Don't need to get fucking pussy on us!" exclaimed the first voice. A giggle ensued but abruptly halted after a sudden _thwack._

Hearing the next voice came as a surprise to me. It was deeper and far more gravellier than the others and held a subliminal demand for respect. "You two shut up! Instead of arguing, just splice the flipping kid and we'll get the heck outta here! The boss said before New Years Eve and we'll get it done before New Years Eve. Now I'll get his body."

I still lay there, silent, praying that it's all a joke. But in the back of my mind I knew I had to do something. After a few awfully muted moments, I felt cold hands wrap around my wrists that were lying beside my head. I immediately sat up, struggling against the intruder. The big one whom I presumed as the one with the deep voice stepped forward and clenched my neck in one hand and covered my mouth with the other. I wouldn't have screamed anyway. Through sharp twists and turns I could spot the door having been closed (I found it strange that I hadn't heard it creak shut). No one will be able to hear anything.

The one who hadn't grappled me stood there, smiling to himself. I knew he was the person who matched the voice of Graham. He held a wicked looking syringe that was in comparison to the normal hypo needles, huge. I could tell he didn't want to waste time by how their conversation represented their boss as a vengeful character. He stepped forward, the tapping of his shoes on the cold floor echoing through the sound of my clothes rustling.

The man who held my hands tight extended my right hand, exposing the wrist. He pulled my hand sharply backwards and it became basically a right angle. Graham lifted the syringe and it pointed precisely down my arm. He pushed it forward, inserting it straight into my veins. It ran down through my arm, pushing all the skin and muscle out of the way as it was practically twice as thick as the normal hypos. Once it almost reached the end of my forearm, he stopped. The trigger was pulled and I then realised the whole syringe was covered in holes as the amber liquid gushed into me. My eyes rolled back in my sockets as the blood abnormally pumped straight from my right arm to the heart, readying to be pumped throughout my entire body.

As the effects wore off, I felt drained of life and sleepy beyond imagination. My captors released me and laid me gently on the bed. Graham slapped me a couple of times casually on the cheek, as if to cheer me up.

"Just wait for tomorrow, boyo. Freedom is near, we swear it. Don't we guys?" Graham said happily. He looked at the other two who grunted in response and were noticeably eager to leave. "We've given you a plasmid boyo. You can't use it anytime, it only happens when your body really needs it. Good luck and Happy New Years."

And with that, they left. Leaving me to only guess at what just happened. What will happen tomorrow?


	2. The Fiery Escape

The alarm built into the wall beside my head rang deafeningly in my ear till I was forced to stand up and tap the button on top. I knew that now I had got up, I wouldn't be able to get to sleep again. Last night seemed to be a hallucination, or even a nightmare. I just couldn't shake the feeling of that dark orange liquid flowing inside me, waiting to activate any time. I shivered again for the umpteenth time.

I glance at the clock to read the time. 8:04. My fingers brought themselves to my eyes and rubbed vigorously. Sleep shook off my eyelids as I leant over the sink. I screwed the tap and icy water came pouring out. It fell into the glistening sink and swirled into the drainage. I scooped up a handful and splashed my face, not caring if it wet my collar or the greying fringe hanging over my inset eyes. I checked the time again. 8:12. Time went so fast and it was nearly time for breakfast.

I could only muster up one word to use then. I don't look kindly on talking out loud to myself, in case I seemes at all crazy, but this seemed to express my feelings. "Fuck." I felt better now.

I trudged out of the room into the checker-floored hallway. I witnessed through open doors a few other subjects getting ready for another day of pain, but most rooms were already empty. I approached breakfast time with a disdainful expression.

The dining hall was really a group of plastic tables stuck in a room that shouldn't truly count as a hall. The tables were a foot from each other, only separated by a row of stools. About 10 other people now sat in here eating their daily menu of porridge. I marched confidently to the triple-glazed windows of the porridge bar, being careful not to show my uncertainty of today's upcoming events.

The obese woman known only as Barbara looked at me and sneered like she usually did. We didn't expect respect, so we didn't get any. I held up the solid bowl and she slopped a ladle full of porridge into it. It felt warm. Better than the usual ice-like crap they serve us. I smiled my non-existing thanks and disconnected from her uncaring stare.

The nearest table to me already seated a miserable sod who was on the watch for any potential conversationalists, and the rule in the dining hall was; sit alone. I knew he wouldn't be too happy to see me so I sat on the next table beyond which fortunately housed no one.

I raised the spoon to my lips and sipped a couple of lumps into my mouth. It was an alright temperature so I continued to shovel the creamy oats into my mouth. I continued this for a few more minutes; along the way realising I was hungrier than I had thought. But as I glanced up quickly (I wondered if I had spilt some of the porridge on the table), I spotted someone standing on the other side watching me as if I was a circus show. I arched my neck up from the huddled position I had taken and met eyes with my mysterious onlooker.

A scientist no doubt, due to his oversized white lab coat. Gold-rimmed glasses perched on the end of his almost horizontal nose. Once he realized I was looking at him, an insanely comical grin spread over his face, wrinkling his old face and balding head. He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet gently. I couldn't help but notice his large stomach pushing at me over the table as he wobbled. I thought I'd break the uncomfortable silence.

"What?" I muttered with an eyebrow raised.

He snapped out of his seemingly happy state and answered. "Nothing… Nothing. I'm just here to ask you a few questions. I'm Doctor Murdame, renowned for my friendly counselling." I relaxed and my shoulders slumped for me to exhale. "But you will have to come with me for testing." I almost coughed up the porridge.

This has to be the thing the intruders were talking about. This new face will take me away to be tested upon. Oh, shit! Shit, shit, shit! Just answer his questions then go from there. Just be calm. Things could get ugly. Aww, damn it...

"You've seen me before I'm sure, talking to your doctor. You couldn't see my face properly because of a tonic I was using. Sorry about that. Anyway," he continued, "on with the questions. I hope you don't mind me asking about all this personal stuff. It's just last time the poor lass ended in tears."

"I don't care. Ask away," I shrugged.

He withdrew a clipboard from inside his coat along with a pencil. "Here we go. So firstly, what's your name?"

"Michael." He stared intently over the top of his glasses at me, completely serious now. I rolled my eyes. "Fontaine…" I wasn't proud of it. "And I'm sixteen in April, if that was you're next question."

"Ah, you're related to _the_ Frank Fontaine. Shame he died. But these things happen, y'know? Long last Atlas, his predecessor and everything. Anyway, how are you related to him? Sorry… _were _related to him?"

"He's my uncle, if that's what you mean. Last of my only known relatives."

"What happened to your parents, Michael?" I could feel his fake and empty sympathy coming from him in invisible waves. His ugly and possibly humorous face didn't aid him.

"They died in a fire at my house. I was only five. Fontaine (I hated to call him uncle or Frank) left me here, saying I would be of use to the community." I squinted my eyes at the now cold porridge, imagining it a pulpy beat-in version of Fontaine's face. This made me smile. "Some use…"

"So you're all alone now? No relatives?" He didn't give me time to answer. "That's a deep shame. A big one honestly. But I'm afraid that there's no time to grieve (as if I would) and we have to move on. If you'd like to follow me."

As he finished off his sentence, two large men stepped on cue with each other to either side of my back. I knew I would have to do something or there'd be no going back. I stood up, the chair skidding on the floor away from my rising legs. I noticed the guards fists tighten and Murdame was now trotting away near the exit to the labs. He turned back to check on me.

"Come on Michael. We don't have all day. We've got lives to change!" He gestured me to follow with a swing of his furrowed hand. He then receded into the bright hallway. I gripped the rim of the porridge bowl and cringed as it stung ice into my fingers. What happened next was completely new to me. It surprised me actually.

With china bowl in hand, I span wildly around. The thug to my left appeared in view first. The bowl came crashing down onto his head, which haphazardly shattered into probably hundreds of pieces. I slammed my eyes shut as a warm red liquid spurted rapidly from his forehead and coated my face and table. The other thug attempted to grapple my arms behind my back but my right arm slipped out easily enough and I brought my elbow into contact with his face. A cracking sound burst into the air as the bone snapped his already misshapen nose and his blood oozed into my shirt sleeve.

I then span back round to the now bent over Left Thug and brought my knee up into his underside. I thought it had it connected, but both his hands were clenched clamp-like on my thigh. He had recovered amazingly fast and his muscular physique straightened up hastily, sending my body whirling backwards to slam onto the tough tiled floor. Pain racked my vision and the air shot out of my gaping mouth.

As I attempted to inhale, a humongous arm closed tightly around my throat in a headlock, worsening my situation. I thumped angrily at the arm, but to no effect was it working. Left Thug grappled me around my legs and waist and both men hauled me up to trudge towards the labs.

All I could hear was the blood pumping like a distant drum-beat in my skull and raspy screams I presumed came from my mouth. No help came. Only darkness. I started to shake rapidly as consciousness rapidly drained out of me and my vision dissipated. The last thing I saw was the lab doors opening in front of me…

Black evaporated from my sight as my eyes flew open. I gasped as my wakened state recognised fresh air. I blinked several times more and shook my head in an attempt to remove the painful headache that I had gained. I gazed around the room once I thought my head was clear and slowly realised I had never been in this place before.

A large (had to be) white room surrounded me and several stained tables were dotted around me. Vials and containers smothered each of them, not leaving a square inch of free-space left. An amount of people I was too lazy to count or recognise scurried around pretending to be busy. It was obvious that something big was coming up. I knew it had something to do with me. I spotted a syringe lying on the table side nearby containing an ugly metallic fluid, which had a sticker of my name attached to its side. I wasn't worried. New Plasmids came to me all the time for testing and I wasn't scared easily any more. I casually wondered why I had been strapped to a vertical board.

Actually, I was still being tied to it. The two same thugs, Left and Right, were tying, clamping and twisting plenty of knots to refrain me from escaping. I decided not to bother them and study their faces for me to remember (why, I don't know).

Both of them had a greasy, dishevelled look to them and purple bags clawed their faces down after nights and days without sleep. They were still incredibly strong, mind you, and didn't look in the least bit tired. Left Thug had used gel to sweep his jet-black hair backwards over his scalp and he had grown an untidy small clump of also dark hair from his chin. Right Thug had the same hairstyle as Left, but instead of a beard he had a tiny, neatly cropped moustache on his upper lip which looked like someone had stuck a hairy black square on his face.

I was going to look down at their probably white clothes, when they finished tying me and Left pressed my head back onto the board. I yelped in pain quietly and Right chuckled as he walked away from me. Left still held onto my head with iron-like grip.

The professor, Murdame, strode up to my hoisted body quickly and smiled in my face. "Don't fear boy. No one'll be hurt. Just follow my instructions." He left me wondering and twisted round to face the gathering scientists. "Hello everybody and welcome to our new and perhaps greatest Plasmid of our time. I present you…" He absorbed the tension. "Dagger Hands!" With that he pulled down a curtain and with a wave of his arm, glamorously flourished a billboard of a woman cutting a cucumber with a knife protruding from her index finger. The shot elaborated on the woman's perfection; hair, smile and everything about her dress seemed just right. "This could revolutionize how we do things without the need for portable knives. It's basically finished and our test subject today is my young friend Michael Fontaine behind me."

All the scientists murmured their approval and appreciation of what Murdame had gone through to find such a great Plasmid. He bowed with a smile and picked up the Dagger Hands Plasmid and, without hesitation, plunged it straight into my wrist. The thick heavy liquid oozed through my body and I cried out in agony.

From what seemed nowhere, I felt the amber liquid from last night burst forth into my bloodstream, cancelling out any effects the recently injected Dagger Hands might have on me. I could feel my skin set itself on a bright orange fire, engulfing my entire body.

I screamed in shock but the roar of flame shrouded my worthless yell and my eyes burst open in astonishment as my insides flowed with super nova-like intensity. I could sense an almost infinite supply of power rushing through me and noticed that no harm was coming to me. I felt fine, just perfectly warm. I stopped shouting prayers to anyone and everyone and peeked a look at the chaos surrounding me.

Right Thug had my attention first. He had grabbed my body in an effort to hold me down, but my infernal aura had started to weld his now melting arms to my body. His face oozed in a sad, crying expression as groans replaced his cries of fear. His eyes transformed into black blobs sizzling in the heat and I stifled back a laugh at his bubbling exterior. I knew that his inners were probably burning up and he would be dead in less than a few seconds. He collapsed and I twisted my head to look at Left Thug.

He was even worse than Right. I could have thrown up if I didn't feel so confident in my new-found strength. His hands, which were now black, crusty and charred to the bone, had moved to encase my neck where I guessed he had tried to strangle me into submission before I caused any serious damage (which was a bit late). He was still alive and he showed unbelievable will, I'll give him that. But he soon buckled and laid his carcass ontop of my body.

I lifted my free arm which wasn't stuck underneath him (the fire must have disintegrated the straps that held me) and I shoved the smoking man off of me. The blaze now died down and any little flames left flickered out. I was naked, I realised, as the fire had not harmed my body but incinerated my clothes. I had harnessed the power of that amber Plasmid, felt the most powerful weapon flowing inside of me, all at the cost of my clothes. I grinned and looked for my new target. Murdame.

He stood with his mouth open like a lame puppy, staring in obvious awe of my sheer strength. I strode up to him, feeling somewhat awkward without anything covering my privates. He still managed to hold his ground though, and a defiant look spread across his face. I didn't stop walking towards him until a flash appeared before my eyes.

A memory definitely. A Plasmid scarred into my brain resurfaced after they made it disappear. I remember moving things with my mind, using a knife and fork on dinner with no hands. Telekinesis. It came back to me and I held my forehead as this forgotten memory flooded into me, reviving a power forgotten straight into my limbs.

All the people in the room panicked suddenly as I raised my hands to lift up a nearby box, afraid of another attack. They rushed towards the exits with screams and waving hands. I left the box to drop to the floor and with a wave of my hand, all the locks on the doors clamped shut, leaving the scientists incapable of escaping. I laughed then at their pitiful scurrying. Much like mice at the hands of a cat.

I turned back to Murdame and he had started to back away slowly. He still gaped openly, unaware of his disastrous surroundings. One scientist I didn't recognise ran up to him. "Sir!" he shrieked. "We have to get out of here! Sir? Sir!" His attention fell onto me and I could tell he had shat his underwear. He crept backwards, faster than Murdame, and I didn't let him stand a chance. With my mind, I through the box I lifted earlier straight at his head. Blood scattered over the floor and a couple of people running behind him. The man collapsed, his faced mashed into his skull.

Nothing would stop me now. Murdame was mine. "Fuck you!" I heard from behind me. I swung around, but it seemed I wasn't quick enough. A short needle stabbed my neck and a colourless liquid gushed into me. I didn't know what this liquid did, but I wasn't going to stop and ask politely. I pushed my assailant off of me and ripped the needle out of my neck.

The man who attacked me fell backwards onto his arse. He sat there with an angry look about him. He had a few wisps of black hair sitting above his ears and a thick black moustache hanging from under his nose. Along with his dark tan and dishevelled tone, he looked just like one of the Mexican people out of a book I had been reading.

"What have you done to me?" I questioned, raising a fist.

He sneered an ugly smile. "I have removed that sin you call Body Blaze from your memory. You shall never use it again!" He started to cackle crazily.

I jumped forward and withdrew the blades from my fingertips, obviously the Dagger Hands, and wasted no effort. The five knives on my right hand punctured his throat, spraying thick blood over my arm. I pulled my hand back out and slashed horizontally across his face, causing the red flood to stream over the floor.

I'm not quite sure how I summoned the daggers. I just extended my fingers and out they came. It felt pretty good. And I still haven't done what I needed to do. Kill Murdame. But he said Body Blaze. That must be the amber Plasmid. I can't think about that now. I have murder to commit.

Murdame was still standing where I had left him. He was probably traumatised about my spectacular feat of merciless killing. I didn't say a word, just threw my fist into his jaw as hard as I could. He sprawled onto the floor, where he lay coughing up a few teeth that had come loose. He looked over his shoulder at me in fear. He knew he wouldn't live. But like all killjoys, he ran.

Another flash before my eyes. A different Plasmid this time. One I can't remember too well, but it still rushes straight to my fingertips. The ability to manipulate rock and earth. I recall bringing down the ceiling on top of me, cracking the floor beneath my feet and crushing a nearby chair with two stone tablets. Terrain Control. My surroundings were now at my expense.

Murdame was almost at the door now (obviously the man was too stupid to realise I had locked them) and I hastily took action. I broke down the ground under his feet, sending him crashing into a hole up to his waist, the finisher was to quickly pull in the sides to squeeze him slightly. I walked casually in front of him and crouched so I was the same head-height as him. He was struggling to free himself, but he stopped once he spotted me watching him.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you, Murdame." I toyed. It made me feel stronger and bigger than this man was, like teasing a child. "Actually, one's not good enough. Give me a few good reasons…" I smiled happily, waiting for his answer.

He burst words out quicker than I suspected. "Because I gave you power! Since you were a boy, you've been better than anyone else! Would killing me reward your efforts in any way? Does it give you satisfaction and nothing else? If you leave me be we can talk this over and perhaps agree on a future arrangement." He stumbled through his words quickly, picking up anything as a reason for him to live. "Don't you want power? I gave you the ability to change lives. Power at your fingertips! To change lives!"

I grinned and stirred some dust around on the floor with my middle finger. "If I have so much power, then what are you to me? I don't wish to reap any benefits. Just revenge for all the shit you put me through. I will change lives. But not necessarily in a good way. Starting with you..."

"No! Please! I'll do anything. Money. Yes, money. You must want money! I'll give you money!" I let him carry on like a baby for a few seconds, leaving him to quiver in his own shadow of death. What spurted out him mouth next surprised me. "Fuck you! You little dick! Fucking let me go!" He struggled to get free a little more. "Release me at once! Shit..."

He slowed down when he realised my fist was raised into the air. He flinched when I froze my swinging hand right before it hit his face. I laughed and smashed his nose in with my other set of knuckles. Blood spurt from his nostril and he clamped his face with both his hands, starting to cry. I laughed again and backed away a couple of steps.

It was great. Now I was the little boy with the magnifying glass. Adrenaline pulsed in me and I breathed in the majestic air of power. I withdrew a single blade and slowly ran it down the back of his hand. When he realised what I was doing, he screamed in shock where blood gushed out over his arm. I laughed again and raised my hand high into the air above me.

Power! It felt so good! Earth shattered upwards and slammed into Murdame's body. Clumps of rock sabotaged the man's body as the spikes protruded everywhere out of him on his upper chest. The dark red ooze splattered _everywhere_ and it jumped onto every surface in a three metre radius. It flew out of his mouth, ears, nose and bits from the eyes. His chest, in slow motion could have exploded. I released a cackle of madness and smeared the blood over my face in a futile attempt at wiping it off. Murdame was dead, propped up in all his unglory.

There was but one thing left to do. I turned around to face the fearful scientists begging for their lives in pitiful babbles. I grinned once again and I'm pretty sure I was a horrific sight drenched in damp spurts of blood with a wicked exression cast upon my face.

They held their hands in front of their faces and struggled to back away into the wall. A few were attempting to break through it but seemed to panic-stricken to realise that the white walls were probably a few metres thick to hold against breakage.

I whipped out knives out of both hands and bowled my way aggressively towards the group. Screams flew at me. Curses and prayers were shot at me; "No!", "Please, I have a family!", "Don't come any closer. I'll bite!" and "Oh Fontaine if you can hear us, make sure we are sent swiftly in your following." These were only a few that really caught my attention.

One of my slashes caught a young woman across the breasts, rendering her usless from feeding any children with them. She cascaded to the floor in a spray of precious blood. I luaghed at the ceiling and whipped my face towards my next victim. An oldish man this time. 50's I guessed.

I sent my arm swooping at his face. My fingers dug straight into his eye sockets and I felt the warmth spread over the back of my hand. I twisted around a little bit, fingering the gungy lumps that were his eyes mixing with his brain. I quickly brought it out and wiped it on the guy's shirt as he started to shake uncontrollably and crumple to the floor like a rag doll.

I didn't have time for the others. I threw a large steel cabinet at the window with my mind, shattering the glass and forcing a torrent of salt water shooting in. It crashed everywhere, sending people spiralling out of control. I raced towards the door before I gave the water a chance to take me under it's foamy hold.

Using my Telekinesis, I unlocked the door, jumped through it with the waves at my heels and slammed it shut. The lock clicked back into it's place with a relieving sound of safety. I trod carefully away towards the stairs, bent on making my escape without being caught.

Caught in the corner of my eye, the other doors had been sent flying open with a mix of blue and white ensuing. I threw the thought of a quiet disappearance out of my mind like the time I threw the puppy I had out into the water to drown it (don't ask).

There were stairs near me and I almost flew up them at the speed I was going at. I heard shouts to slow down, but as I knew that would be a stupid thing to do, I kept on running. Gunshots bounced off the walls near me and knew my pursuers were carrying guns. As I shot around the corner, I snapped a glance at the squad of dark-armoured suits following me up the steps. Large guns rested in their palms and were pointed straight at me, ready to unleash a fatal barrage of lead.

I jumped forward up three steps, just dodging a clang of metal on metal. I half sprinted, half stumbled some more towards a door at the top of the stairs. It burst open away from me (which wasn't my fault), and a soldier stepped into the space with a pistol aimed at my head.

Quickly thinking, I shuffled the stone beneath his feet, sending him slipping onto his back with his head sliding down the frame. My mind pulled the door shut on the man's head. The helmet released a terrific snap and blood, brain and some fragmentation of his skull scattered over the wall and stairs.

Tossing the door open, a hallway stood in front of me. Several doors faced me. I knew one way led to out of here, and the rest were "test" labs. More like torture chambers. How do I know? I was taken into this very room once. It's for misbehaving subjects. And to what's left of my memory, I wasn't a star. Too bad my memories about this place were fuzzy, because I didn't know which one was the right one.

A gunshot echoing just past my body tore back into the real world. I flung my body forward and snatched the nearest door's handle. Without looking at the ensuing soldiers, I stepped through the mysterious door, oblivious to the outcome.


End file.
